


Wayward Miracles

by Afewproblems



Category: Daredevil (TV)
Genre: Angels, Christmas, Daredevil - Freeform, Frank Castle needs a hug, Fratt - Freeform, Fratt Secret Santa Gift Exchange, Human Disaster Matt Murdock, It's A Wonderful Life AU, It's a Wonderful Life, M/M, Matt Murdock Needs a Hug, Season 1 of Punisher has not happened yet, Season 3 of Daredevil has not happened yet, The Punisher, matt murdock whump, secret santa gift, timeline limbo
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-22
Updated: 2018-12-22
Packaged: 2019-09-24 16:12:29
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,511
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17103827
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Afewproblems/pseuds/Afewproblems
Summary: A Daredevil It's a Wonderful Life AU for the Fratt Secret Santa Gift Exchange!"'This self sacrificing bullshit,' Frank says loudly, one hand rises and moves in Matt's direction, a gesture then, while the other gathers the soiled gauze and steri-strip wrappers, 'gets old Red.'Matt huffs out a laugh, 'Catholic remember, kinda comes with the territory.'"After a fight leads Matt and Frank to a cross roads, is there any hope for them finding their way back to one another? They may be in need of a little...help.(I hope you enjoy this even though the summary sucks)





	Wayward Miracles

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Amaria_Anna_D](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Amaria_Anna_D/gifts).



> For my wonderful Giftee! I had an amazing time writing this and the prompt was fantastic!  
> I do hope I have done this justice and that you like it!

 

 

"This, this is the shit I’m talkin' about Red," Frank growls as he smooths the gauze pad over the newly stitched gash on Matt's stomach.

 

It hadn’t been an easy evening.

 

Frank had been a block away when the fire fight started, navigating the quiet winter streets that were still bustling with New Yorkers on their way out of town for the holidays. While Matt had mentioned where he would be patrolling that evening he had left out, _conveniently_ , the thieves he had been tracking for weeks. Thieves who also happened to carry a plethora of weapons, a generous gift from Wilson Fisk; Matt may have neglected to mention that as well.

 

"This self sacrificing bullshit," Frank says loudly, one hand rises and moves in Matt's direction, a gesture then, while the other gathers the soiled gauze and steri-strip wrappers, “gets old Red.”

 

Matt huffs out a laugh, “Catholic remember, kinda comes with the territory.”

 

He pulls away to stand; moving slowly, careful not to pull the adhesive strips and stitches beneath carefully placed gauze, but his expression remains impassive. The smell of antiseptic, sweat, and copper permeate the kitchen and living room as Matt shuffles to the sofa.

 

The couple downstairs argue over laundry, sweeping around their one bedroom as they ready their suitcases to travel upstate. Fran, his neighbor next door, adjusts the volume on her radio; whether this is in response to Frank's rising voice or her own preferences is uncertain.

 

Matt grimaces as a glimmer of envy rises within him; would a normal holiday, a normal fight about chores, a simple evening at home with no worries or cares to pull him back into the darkness...would that be so wrong?

 

The feeling of eyes on him disperses the thought.

 

Frank stays anchored to the counter; his breathing rises in stops and starts, the smallest of sounds escape on the exhale, unfinished words trapped against their will. Franks knuckles creak as he clenches his fists that rest lightly against the laminate of Matt's kitchen counter top.

 

Matt sighs from the living room, “say what you’re going to say Frank, I can hear you combusting from here.”

 

Frank slams the lid of the first aid kit shut, "This how it's going to be?"

 

He moves around the counter, heavy boots swiftly navigate the apartment towards Matt, "You take off on me, and expect a welcome party when some thugs kick your ass? One of these days you're gonna get yourself killed, tell me I'm wrong.”

 

Matt breathes in through his nose, his mouth flattens into a hard line, “I do what it takes, I thought you were all about that-"

 

"I'm not burying you Matt,” Frank barks, his voice hoarse, “not you too.”

 

Franks heart rate thunders wildly beside the sofa, Matt could almost reach out to touch him. His hazel eyes burn as the words echo again and again within him.

 

His hands remain firmly in his lap.

 

“I am Daredevil,” Matt says, his voice nearly a whisper,”if you can't handle that then maybe we have a different problem.”

 

Frank reels back as though struck.

 

Not for the first time, Matt wishes he could see the expression on Franks face.

 

“Daredevil ain't the prick I have an issue with,” he snarls, “Matt Murdock, running around with a death wish, is the one who seems hell bent on pushing me out.”

 

Fran turns the volume up on the radio once more, audibly sighing from her position on the well worn recliner closest to the window. Beast, a small orange tabby, mewls as he raises his head from her warm lap in irritation.

 

Matt can’t help but agree.

 

“You knew this about me from the start...maybe,” Matt pauses, the words stick to his teeth.

 

 

_Don’t say it…_

 

 

Frank beats him to it.

 

“Well _maybe_ next time you can pick your own sorry ass up out of the gutter, I’m outta here _.”_

 

Frank scoffs as he crosses the space in three more strides, ripping his coat from the hooks by the door; he pauses with his hand on the doorknob, waiting.

 

Silence grips the apartment, holding back the words that Frank stays to hear; his own grip tightens on the handle as he opens the door and slips down the hall.

 

The door falls shut behind him with a soft snick. Franks heartbeat lingers through the stairwell and onto the sidewalk outside before disappearing amid the steady stream of traffic.

 

Matt breathes out a long sigh, his face crumbling as Fran shuts off her radio and shuffles to her bedroom, Beast dutifully following in her wake. Perhaps she couldn’t stand to listen to his brand of bullshit anymore either.

 

He wipes a shaking hand over his face as an icy pit begins to form in his stomach, maybe Frank wasn’t coming back.

 

 _Isn’t that a good thing?_ A slick, venomous, thought whispers, _didn’t he just save you the trouble?_

 

 

“Jesus,” a woman's voice, hard and incredulous, grunts from behind him.

 

Matt gasps, startled, and flings himself away from the sofa and over the coffee table, arms raised towards the intruder. His suit is across the apartment, scattered in the kitchen in his hurry to tend to the gaping wound on his stomach after Frank managed to drag him back to his apartment. His batons are sitting in the alley he passed out in, forgotten and useless at the moment.

 

 

Who the _hell_ is in his apartment?

 

The heart beat is strange, faint like an echo calling back from miles away, but steady. Familiar.

 

The voice scoffs, moving closer towards him. Matt bends his knees, one leg poised behind him - ready.

 

“Are you kidding me with this Murdock?”

 

The faint smell of whiskey and leather washes over him as the intruder moves towards the now empty sofa. The sound of leather against leather squeaks and whines as a small body reclines where he had sat just moments ago.

 

“Jess?”

 

She is silent for a moment, unmoving; she is still facing him but...she doesn’t appear to be listening...or looking at him.

 

He hasn’t run into Jessica for months now, not since the Midland Circle incident with the other Defenders. Of course he’s tried to keep tabs on the others, ready to help if needed but life has all but refused to go quietly and Matt has his own wars to wage on the New York underworld.

 

The rationalization, however; doesn’t quite stem the stream of guilt that begins to worm its way through him.

 

She nods after a beat and turns her face back towards him.

 

“Sorry,” she says, no trace of regret to be found in her voice, “what was the question?”

 

Matt frowns and lowers his arms slightly, “Jess? Jessica Jones?”

 

“Yes and no,” she says, her heart rate doesn't waiver; it remains faint even from the short distance between them. _Is this how it always sounded?_

 

“Meaning..?”

 

“This is the form of Jessica Jones as you know her but I am not her, I have simply adopted her appearance as an easy means of communicating with you.”

 

A cold lurch drops through Matt's stomach as the words echo in his head, the form...of Jessica?

 

Matt keeps his arms lowered, neutral at his side but clenches his fists, his own heart rate climbs as the intruders fades father into the background.

 

“Who are you, where is Jess?”

 

The woman barks out a laugh, the pitch rises and falls the same way Jessica's had, Matt suppresses a shiver.

 

“Relax counselor, Jones is currently in her apartment asleep, well passed out technically.”

 

The figure leans farther into the sofa and pulls her legs up onto the coffee table between them. Matt bristles in irritation.

 

“You still haven’t answered my other question,” he murmurs; her heart beat almost non existent now.

 

“It’s not important Murdock, right now,” she motions her hand towards the door and back to him, “we have a lot of work to do.”

 

Matt's jaw nearly drops at the audacity of this...stranger in his apartment; he shakes his head. “I am not doing anything until you tell me what the hell is going on!”

 

The woman tisks and rises from the sofa, she takes a step towards him only to stop as Matt matches her movement with a step backwards, she huffs in irritation.

 

“Okay short version,” she says, raising her hands in mock surrender as she moves back towards the unoccupied seat.

 

“You're Catholic,” she says, not bothering to wait for a reply, “so you know most of the big stories, the famous Angel appearances here on earth.”

 

Matt nods jerkily, there was no way…

 

“But what they don't go around preaching about are all the small visits, the wayward miracles that keep you dummies from making completely avoidable mistakes.”

 

She pauses, this time expectantly, waiting for a response.

 

Matt simply nods again, at a loss for words. Had he been kicked in the head during that last fight? He runs a mental inventory of the evening trying to place the suspected concussion--

 

“Your head is fine counselor,” the woman says snidely, ignoring the stiffening of his shoulders, “I am an Angel sent here to keep you on the right path for your life.”

 

“No.” Matt mutters. “No, nope, this is not real. This is a dream or a hallucination or,” he cocks his head to the side, “you actually are Jessica and you need to go to the hospital right now.”

 

The woman laughs again, this time though the sound is strange -ringing throughout the apartment- long and loud. A shiver runs over his skin as the sound abruptly stops.

 

“I can prove it to you,” she says, suddenly beside him. Before he can flinch away, she reaches out to touch his forehead and the world goes white.

  
  


 

Matt is standing in a cemetery.

 

Light rain patters around him. A few people are standing closest to the hole cradling the wooden casket; the polished walnut veneer shines in the grey morning.

 

Matt nearly collapses into the woman beside him.

 

 

He can see.

 

 

He can see everything, the wet green grass trampled in many well worn paths around the tombstones, the crisp black suits and dresses of the few mourners gathered here along the gravesite. The red bible held by Father Lantom...how is this possible?

 

He looks to the woman next to him, her pale features and swath of jet black hair make her eyes, a honey brown, seem almost luminous.

 

“Listen,” she whispers using her hand to turn his face back to the casket.

 

Father Lantom clears his throat, his hand -dappled with liver spots- comes up to cover the cough. He looks tired and older amidst the dull grey New York skyline, older than Matt had ever thought looking back on the last confession they had shared.

 

There was so much he wished he could do at this moment.

 

“We are gathered here today to mourn the passing of Frank Castle.”

 

 

His heart stutters.

 

He feels like he’s underwater, the words muffled -just beyond reach.

 

Frank can’t be, he isn’t; Matt just saw him a few minutes ago...this isn’t real.

 

 

Franks heartbeat, normally steady and strong, is gone; the absence seems to suck the air out of his lungs.

 

 

“You’re right, this isn’t real,” Jessica says close to his ear, “this was a possible outcome out of so many outcomes that you managed to sidestep all on your own.” She places a warm hand on his shoulder, holding him steady as though she knows he’s ready to rattle apart into a thousand pieces.

 

“Why, what am I seeing?” he asks softly.

 

“I have allowed you to see what would have happened if you had never met Frank.” Her eyes are trained on his face, bare without his red glasses.

 

“How,” he asks before he can claw the words back down his throat.

 

She grimaces, “You weren’t there with him, to help him get out when the Irish mob took him. There were just too many people…he didn’t make it past this graveyard in this outcome.”

 

His chest tightens as his lungs beg for air, why, how could this have happened? Frank was a survivor. He blinks rapidly against the gathering tears, it’s not real…

 

“It isn’t real,” Jessica hums again as she lets go of his shoulder to clasp her hands in front of her, “perhaps this was a cruel way to impart this lesson but sometimes you piss me off Murdock.”

 

Matt turns to face her, his face flushed and eyes shining, “Is this a joke to you?” he spits as Father Lantom crosses himself and signals for the casket to be lowered.

 

The Angel smiles sadly, “No, it’s not.”

 

She turns back towards the mourners, all strangers to him save for the priest.

 

“I can promise you, even if _you_ think your life has no meaning...if _you_ think it is expendable; to everyone else,” she waves her hand towards the casket, “including him, you are the reason they are still standing here today along with so many others.”

 

Matt wipes at his eyes, this was all well and good now after the fact but Frank was gone, he left...

 

“I think you need to cut him a bit of slack when it comes to protecting something he cares about, don’t you?”

 

She touches his forehead once more and the world turns black.

 

 

Matt is standing in his apartment.

 

The world is dark once more.

 

 

He wishes he could have seen more, talked to people one last time with his sight. See what Foggy and Karen looked like, finally see Frank…

 

His face crumples as he sinks to his knees on the floor of his living room, it didn’t matter now.

  


“Listen Matt,” A gruff voice says as the front door swings open, “I didn’t mean for things to get so out of control like that.” Frank moves around the corner to the living room and halts as he spots Matt.

 

“Red, what happened?” Frank says softly as he crouches down to the floor beside him, “hey, say something--”

 

Matt darts into the other man's arms, his breathing dissolving into erratic gasps. Frank seems to fold around him, one hand rising to card through his hair.

 

“I’m sorry,” Matt gasps, “I’m so glad you’re here, you came back…”

 

Frank pulls back just enough to look at Matt’s face, “Of course I did Red, I was only gone for a minute -not even- I just needed to take a walk,” he leans his forehead in and rests it against Matts own, “I ain’t gonna leave ya...even if you piss me off sometimes.”

 

That startles a small wet laugh out of him as Frank wipes away a stray tear.

 

“I’m so glad you’re here,” Matt whispers, “I want to talk about what happened, apologize-”

 

“Later,” Frank says softly as he runs his thumb over Matt's check once more; he pulls the other man in tighter.

 

Franks heartbeat strikes a steady rhythm next to him, strong and familiar.

 

**Author's Note:**

> I could have done a better job with the ending but I am happy with many parts of this fic, and I really hope you enjoyed it as well!


End file.
